


tell me you'll love me for a million years

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Movie, Slice of Life, a sweater perishes in this fic, and teach at the same university, they get married and settle back into academia and move to a shitty apartment, this is just. a lot of fluff, written on the assumption that following the events of the film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann is working late, so Newt decides to be a great husband and tackle their chores. He mostly succeeds.





	tell me you'll love me for a million years

**Author's Note:**

> i rewatched this movie back in march and cruised up, or more accurately threw my entire being entirely, into the scientist party about four years too late, but since the trailer for the sequel came out last month this is totally timely and relevant for me to post, okay, no one can say otherwise.  
> written frantically in the early hours of the morning as a method of avoiding the multiple term paper deadlines i have looming in my future, but also as a method of practicing how to write these two losers. title pulled from the lyrics to an oldie i've always loved

Newt doesn't want to brag, but he’s being a  _pretty great_ husband today.

Hermann's stuck working late; he's extended his office hours to account for the end-of-semester-panic-induced meeting influx, whereas Newt had the foresight to push all his forward to the beginning of next week so he doesn't have to spend his Friday afternoon awkwardly comforting tearful freshmen. His Monday is going to be hell, now, but whatever. It's worth it to hightail it off campus immediately after his major-core students finish lab at noon (but not until he drops by the physics department to kiss Hermann goodbye and rub it in his face). And now Newt's using his hard-earned free time to do all the chores around their apartment they've been putting off for a week and make something nice for dinner.

At least, that was his plan. He kind of loses steam after he takes out the trash. The elevator's full of people who don't look too jazzed at the prospect of being stuck in a confined space with a small man toting three large garbage bags, one of which contains the remains of, and smells of, an ill-advised experiment on mold Newt had attempted in the living room last Tuesday—it's  _not_ a biohazard, no matter how much Hermann griped. So Newt has to lug them down a few flights of stairs, which is more physical exertion than he counted on. He kind of phones it in on the rest of the chores, after that: he does a questionable job vacuuming and just kind of dumps all of their laundry together into the washer and dryer, but he does remember to brush away the stubbly hair he got all over the bathroom sink when he shaved that morning. He doesn't phone in the cooking, which definitely earns him back great husband points; he’s taking cooking very seriously.

The sun has already set and Newt's just finishing up dinner when the front door opens and Hermann steps inside, looking cold and exhausted and mildly grumpy. He brightens considerably, though, when Newt takes it upon himself to warm him up from the December air with hello-kisses all over his face and arms wrapped around his waist.

"You would not believe," Hermann says indignantly, as Newt presses kiss after kiss to his cheek and divests him of his giant dorky parka that he's _still_ held onto after all these years, "how many students do not understand the concept of ‘ _I do not offer extra credit’_.” Newt hangs the parka up on the coat rack and threads his fingers through Hermann's, and gently tugs him into the kitchen. He thinks, absently, that he needs to get Hermann a nice pair of mittens or something.

"Can you blame them for trying?" Not that Newt doesn't have the exact same policy for his upper levels, but he's a lot more lenient with the gen-ed kids. Newt's more than willing to die on multiple, increasingly questionable hills, but arguing with eighteen-year-olds is not part of any of them.

"It's on my syllabus." Hermann eases into his chair at the dining table and leans his cane carefully against it. He looks grateful when Newt hands him a cup of coffee. "It's in bold. I stated it  _twice_ during my first lecture." He sounds pained. "And yet one young man spent the better part of my lunch attempting to argue his way into an extra credit assignment. I'm tempted to lower his grade, if anything."

"That'd be so mean." Newt grins. "The kid deserves  _some_ props for dedication." Hermann opens his mouth to speak, presumably so he can dive right into a miniature rant proving Newt wrong, so Newt swoops down and kisses him again before he has the chance. Hermann doesn’t seem to mind. He slips a hand up to the nape of Newt’s neck to keep him in place, and Newt sighs happily. Hermann's face is still cold and his lips are a little chapped from the wind, and it's the loveliest thing Newt's felt all day.

"Stop talking about work," he orders, once Hermann lets go of him, "and eat dinner." But Hermann's eyes are lingering on Newt's mouth, still, and all thoughts of the pasta on the stovetop slip from Newt's mind as Hermann pulls him in for another kiss, and another. The angle's awkward, and Newt’s starting to feel a bit of an ache in his neck at the strain, but he can't find it in himself to care.

"You're very warm," Hermann murmurs against his lips. He's sliding his hands up Newt's sides, rucking up the fraying hem of the old sweatshirt Newt's thrown on over his usual work clothes, untucking his shirt.

"And you're freezing," Newt laughs, even as he shivers at the feeling of Hermann's fingertips, still cold from outside, on his bare skin. He's definitely getting him mittens. "I'm wrapping you in at least fifty blankets before you even think about getting some tonight, dude." Hermann makes a disapproving noise and tugs insistently at Newt until he relents and scoots up onto the edge of the table, just above Hermann. Hermann kisses under his jaw, and Newt's eyes flutter shut.

"Revenge," Hermann says, and his words vibrate against Newt's skin, "for the amount of times you've stuck  _your_ freezing hands up my shirt in bed to warm yourself."

Newt huffs, but it turns into a sigh as Hermann kisses behind his ear. "Fair,” he concedes. Hermann's weird flannel grandpa pajamas are ridiculously cozy and Hermann’s got a hot bod, so sue him. Hermann tugs Newt’s sweatshirt off and drops it to the floor, and that's when Newt stills Hermann with a gentle touch to his chest.

"Okay, but for real,” Newt says, “dinner first, I spent like three hours on it." Hermann looks disappointed, but he inches his chair back and kisses Newt one last time before Newt hops down onto the linoleum. "I tried to make that thing you liked at the restaurant we went to for our anniversary last year," Newt babbles, as he digs around cabinets and drawers for clean plates and silverware (strike one against the great husband thing: he completely forgot to load the dishwasher), "but I couldn't remember everything that was in it so it's probably weird."

Hermann doesn't seem to care; he's smiling at Newt, fond and happy, and Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks. "You're a dear for cooking," he says, as Newt slides him a plate of the concoction. "I was simply going to suggest takeout and mindless television."

"Yeah, well," Newt shrugs, but he's pleased and fights back a smile of his own. "I had free time. Still super down for garbage TV, though. There's an  _Ancient Aliens_ marathon on and it's calling our names, baby."

Hermann groans. "How is that still airing, even after the kaiju?" Newt very kindly doesn't inform Hermann of the existence of _Ancient Aliens_ episodes that aired during the time before they closed the Breach, touting the usual conspiracies but putting the blame on kaiju (in an incredibly smug, _I-told-you-so_ way) instead. He also, even more kindly, doesn't inform Hermann how the show’s producers appropriated his and Hermann's research, individual and otherwise, more than once to back up their theories. "I would think that the world has had its fill of aliens," Hermann continues. "Ancient or otherwise."

"Tell that to the eight episodes of  _Doctor Who_ sitting in our DVR," Newt says with a grin and a kiss to the top of Hermann's head. "You big nerd."

"Yes. Well." Hermann sniffs, and says nothing further as he picks up his fork.

~*~ 

Hermann really, really likes dinner, which is great news for Newt, because he's decided that the best way to show his appreciation is by pressing Newt down onto the sofa and kissing him until his head spins. Newt doesn't even remember what television show they eventually settled on. He thinks it might be reruns of  _Forensic Files,_  but Hermann’s lovely eyelashes are within counting distance and fluttering against Newt's cheek, at some point he unbuttoned Newt’s shirt and got rid of his tie, and things are getting delightfully warm and hazy.

Newt cards his fingers through Hermann’s hair, enjoying the fuzzy feeling of his undercut. “You haven’t cut your hair in a while,” he says, when Hermann pauses so he can shrug off his sweater vest and Newt remembers how to speak again.

Hermann hums in thought. He’s gazing down at Newt, eyes warm and soft. “Too busy, I suppose. Or perhaps too lazy,” he confesses. He reaches up to capture Newt’s hand where it is, pulling it down to his lips. He kisses each individual fingertip, lightly, and Newt’s breath catches in his throat. “Do you mind it longer?”

“I like how puffy it is. Like a mushroom.” Newt runs his fingers through it again. “It’s cute.  _You’re_ cute.”

Hermann leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose, and Newt scrunches it up. “I’ve always loved your freckles,” Hermann says, smiling lazily. “ _They’re_ cute as well.” He leans back down, capturing Newt’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging, and Newt swallows back an embarrassingly high noise.

Hermann’s hands are just starting to creep below his waistline when the loud buzz of the dryer's final cycle ending startles them both, and Newt whines as Hermann lets go of his belt buckle. "Our clothing will wrinkle if we don't take it out now," Hermann says apologetically, sitting up. Hermann’s lips are red and his cheeks are flushed, his hair all mussed up, and Newt cannot imagine giving a single shit if their clothing wrinkles right now. But he wants to get back to what they were doing as soon as possible, so he hustles over to the closet they call a laundry room with his open shirt flapping awkwardly.

"Don't forget to fold everything," Hermann calls after him helpfully, and Newt swears under his breath. He speeds through Hermann's Oxford button-downs and a few of his own old faded t-shirts, but comes to a screeching halt when he starts on Hermann's sweaters. See—all Hermann wanted for his birthday last year was a super nice, expensive wool sweater he was too money-conscious to buy for himself (a concept Newt’s never been familiar with). So, of course, Newt bought it for him. Hermann loved it, took excellent care of it, and would never, hypothetically, stick it in the dryer so it could get ruined like Newt's just done.

Newt holds the sweater out in front of him, considering. It's about two sizes too small now. Give or take. Newt toys, briefly, with the idea of hiding it under their bed, or stuffing it at the bottom of their bureau, or better yet, just burning the evidence. He walks back to the living room slowly.

"So," he says, conversationally, "I fucked up." Hermann looks vaguely concerned, so Newt tosses him the sweater and watches his expression fade to exasperation as he realizes exactly what it is he's holding.

" _Newton_ ," he groans. "You  _didn't_." He plucks at one of the sleeves despondently.

"I didn't see it was in the hamper," Newt says quickly, "or I wouldn't have even touched it. I promise." Desperate for Hermann to stop looking so sad (because it’s worse than if he was shouting at Newt right now), he grabs the sweater back and tries to tug it on over his own head. "The plus side is that I bet it fits me now?"

It doesn't. Hermann may be taller than Newt, but where he's all sharp angles and long limbs Newt's all soft and stocky, so the sleeves are too tight and the hemline barely stretches past his stomach. "See?" he says weakly, holding his arms up so he can model. "Not too bad." His glasses are dangling half-off his face, knocked aside by his effort, so Hermann is more of a Hermann-colored blob at the moment. Newt adjusts them, and Hermann doesn't look like he's about to have a conniption in anger or anything.

Instead, he's almost doubled over off the sofa in silent laughter. "You look," he wheezes after a solid minute, while Newt stands blushing and uncomfortably constricted, " _completely_ ridiculous."

Newt tries to cross his arms, but the sweater's so tight he can't even do that. He settles on awkwardly resting his hands on his hips like he’s someone's disappointed father. "Screw you," he says affectionately when Hermann starts breathing normally again. "This is the hottest new look this winter. I'm a trendsetter. I'm the next international fashion icon."

"I'm sure," Hermann says, lips still quirked up. "Forgive me. You must be far too busy in your  _exciting_ new life of glamour and fame to consider continuing where we left off."

Hermann pats the cushion next to him, and in a flash, Newt is hopping over the back of the sofa and sidling up into Hermann's personal space. Hermann hums contentedly as he cups Newt's face in his hands, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks, chasing after the blush that’s still spreading across them. “I'm really sorry about the sweater, man," Newt mumbles, as Hermann gently eases him back down against the cushions and settles over him. He's distracted momentarily when Hermann slides his glasses up to kiss his eyelids, but the tenderness of it is not nearly enough to completely quash Newt's guilt. "I'll buy you another one. I'll learn to knit and  _knit_ you another one."

"Hush," Hermann says softly, brushing his thumb under Newt's eye. There's still the faintest red ring around the iris, matching Hermann's own. Scarring that has never truly faded. Newt joked about it, when they'd first gotten married: now they have two sets of matching rings. (He thinks, privately, that it's romantic, and he knows Hermann does too.) "It's quite alright, darling. It was an accident." He tugs at the bottom of the sweater. "Right now I'm far more interested in getting it  _off_ of you than anything else."

Newt can feel his smile breaching into goofy and unabashedly lovestruck territory, and he nods rapidly. "Yes," he says in a rush, "One hundred percent on board." Hermann sits up to give Newt room to move, his eyes flicking down to the exposed skin of Newt's midriff. Newt’s never wanted an article of clothing off his body this badly before.

Except—except he's having. A little difficulty. He didn’t bother to re-button his shirt before he pulled Hermann's sweater on over it, and in his effort to tear it off as quickly as possible he'd managed to completely twist and tangle himself in the two. His arms are more or less pinned above his head, and he can't see anything other than a blurry haze of cream-colored wool. Belatedly, Newt realizes that his glasses are lost somewhere in the mess too.

"Uh. Hermann," he says, sheepish, "I think I'm stuck."

By the time Newt manages to wiggle around enough to free himself from his stuffy fabric prison, Hermann has gone completely red in the face with laughter and is clutching onto Newt’s knee for support. “You could’ve helped!” Newt exclaims as Hermann reigns himself in once more, but Newt's laughing too. “Oh my God, you’re the worst, you just like seeing me suffer. I can't believe I married you.”

“Oh, you _poor_ dear,” Hermann says sarcastically, but he kisses Newt sweetly, and Newt could stay like this forever. “I love you,” Hermann adds, impossibly fond.

“I love you too,” Newt says, grinning, and he tugs Hermann back down for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on twitter under the same username, if you'd like, and say hi or talk about these nerds!


End file.
